One Thing
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: Sherlock has botched it, badly, and Molly leaves him. There's only one thing that can bring her back, but will he be able to prove it to her? (A short-ish story, post HLV)
1. The Break-Up

'No explanation?'

'There's nothing I could possibly say to convince you otherwise.'

Molly looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a fraction of the pain and sorrow she felt and even that glimpse was too much. Sherlock averted his eyes. The silence fell heavy between them.

Finally, he heard Molly turn to leave. Her soft footfalls fell like a gavel on his heart. She stopped as she reached the door and Sherlock finally raised his eyes. She held the edge of the door in one hand, her face turned back to look at him.

'You're wrong. There is one thing, Sherlock, the only thing I ever needed to hear from you,' she smiled sadly. She turned her face away from him as the tears she'd held at bay began to fall.

His mind raced with words, trying to grasp the ones that would keep his girlfriend from leaving, the ones that would convince her to stay. They were always there, but now, when it counted, he could not force them past his lips. Molly's shoulders began to shake and she wrapped her arms around her waist.

'Good-bye, Sherlock.' And with that, she fled Baker Street.

Sherlock remained frozen in the middle of the flat, staring at the space she had just occupied. Somewhere at his feet were the shattered remains of the heart he once claimed he didn't have. The words he had been so desperate to find seemed to mock him in their lateness, as they finally were given life.

'I love you.'

But it was too late.

* * *

The three days after their break-up passed in a haze. Molly begged off from work and locked herself in her flat. The first day was spent curled up in a ball on her sofa, sobbing, trying to ease the overwhelming ache in her chest. By the afternoon of the second day, she was a wreck. Her eyes were sore and red, her nose tender, and the pain not lessened in the least. The third day found Molly with her thumb hovering over the 'send' button on her mobile, a text to Sherlock asking to talk. Just as she was about to press it, the image from the day she left him flashed through her mind and she choked on a sob, chucking the phone across the room.

_Knock knock knock_

Molly hiccupped and looked at the door in fear, praying it wasn't Sherlock.

'Molly?'

She breathed a tremulous sigh of relief at the familiar voice and unfolded herself from the sofa, shuffling to the door. She pasted on a smile and opened it to greet the concerned John and Mary Watson.

'Hi, John, Mary. What can I d-do for you?' She cursed her stammer as her smile wobbled tellingly.

John took one look at her and enveloped her in a brotherly embrace, despite the fact that she was in ratty, two-day-old jammies and now sobbing into his dress shirt. Mary ushered them inside and immediately bustled about making tea.

'He's an idiot,' John joked as he led her to the couch, rubbing her arm soothingly.

Molly nodded, her cries abating. 'B-but he was _my _idiot,' she lamented.

'He's an utter cock, that's what he is,' Mary interjected from the kitchen. John snorted as Molly giggled, her crying calmed. They sat in silence for a while until Mary joined them with a tray of tea and Molly's favourite biscuits.

'Thank you,' Molly murmured, realizing she hadn't eaten in three days and her stomach was quite unhappy with her. She nibbled on a biscuit. It tasted bland, but she knew that heartbreak was no reason to starve her body.

Mary sat in the armchair nearby and placed three more biscuits in her hand, 'I will not have my best friend die from hunger because of that arse.'

'Mary,' John warned gently.

Molly shook her head, 'No, it's fine. I'm a doctor, I should know better than to forego eating for three days.'

'Three days?' Mary and John exclaimed simultaneously.

Molly grimaced and stared intently at her hands in her lap, 'I haven't even moved from the sofa since…' She trailed off as new tears formed.

Over Molly's bowed head, John and Mary exchanged a familiar look. The one that said 'We will kill him when we see him.'

'We understand if you don't want to talk about it,' John reached a hand out to cover hers. 'Sherlock hasn't spoken a word to us, he just keeps playing the same damn mournful tune on that bloody violin of his.'

'All we could get from Mrs. Hudson is that the two of you had a domestic and you walked out on him.'

Molly crumbled the biscuits into the napkin on her lap, debating whether or not to say anything. But knowing that John and Mary only had hers and Sherlock's best interests in mind, she took a deep breath and explained:

'I've known Sherlock for seven years. And we have been in a relationship for ten months. He told me I was the only woman he could logically be with. Like a fool, I thought I could trust him.'

Molly gulped, a lump forming in her throat as she fought against more tears. 'I was wrong.'

Beside her, Mary inhaled sharply as if bracing herself.

Molly finally raised her eyes, turning her gaze to John.

'Do you remember Irene Adler?'


	2. Her Side

Six months after they started dating, Sherlock told Molly about the Woman, the one he had identified that horrible Christmas by not-her-face. He held Molly's hands and reassured her that, despite being intrigued and slightly aroused by Irene Adler, he had not succumbed to her 'dinner' invitations.

Though still insecure about their relationship, Molly believed him. When he told her about how he had traveled to Karachi to save the Woman, Molly felt a twinge of fear knowing the Woman was still alive. Would Sherlock eventually tire of her and leave her for the dominatrix?

Sherlock deduced her thoughts and once more reassured her that, logically, she was his best match, her kindness and forgiveness softened his rude and blunt demeanor. He hadn't told her he loved her, but Molly felt reassured that he wanted her more than Irene Adler.

Until the one night Molly had returned home early and their relationship was destroyed.

She had been away, attending a pathology conference for the weekend. Unfortunately, the key note speaker fell ill and the replacement was mediocre, at best. After suffering through Saturday's lectures, Molly decided to abandon the conference entirely and return to London.

She smiled to herself, excited about the unexpected free day she now had to spend with Sherlock. His last text, from Friday morning after she left, was a long complaint of being bored and having no cases.

It was getting dark out when the cab pulled up to 221 Baker Street. Molly paid the cabbie and grabbed her bag as she climbed out. She unlocked the door and made her way upstairs, trying to be silent and surprise Sherlock.

She slipped inside the open door and looked around, frowning at the empty room. Sherlock's Belstaff was flung over a kitchen chair, so clearly he was home. Molly glanced down the hall and saw the closed bedroom door. Assuming he was sleeping (God knows, the man needed to more than he actually did), she set her bag on the floor and toed off her shoes, shuffling toward the bedroom.

She turned the knob slowly and slipped inside the small opening, turning and closing the door quietly behind her. With a smile on her face, she turned around and stepped into the room.

Her eyes fell on the man sleeping peacefully, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath.

Wrapped in the arms of a naked woman.

Molly's heart stuttered to a stop and her body flushed cold, as though she'd been dunked in ice water. Her heart began to thud painfully and loudly in her ears, as she realized what she was seeing. She clasped her hands over her mouth and she let out a distressed sob, her feet refusing to turn her from the sight.

Sherlock stirred at the sound and opened bleary, unfocused eyes. He turned his head toward her and smiled sleepily. When tears fell from Molly's eyes, he awoke fully and began to sit up.

'Molly, what's-' He stopped and frowned in confusion at the weight pressed against his side. As he turned his head to see, Molly regained control of her legs and fled, flinging the door open and stumbling into the kitchen.

'Molly!' Sherlock shouted. Molly ignored the panic in his voice as she desperately tried to put her shoes on, her trembling hands refusing to cooperate. Tears trailed down her face as she sobbed openly.

Sherlock dashed into the kitchen, wearing only his pants. His curls were in disarray and his eyes wild as he rushed to her side. He reached out to stop her, but she slapped his hand away.

'Don't touch me!' She shrieked. Sherlock stepped back, his face changing between stoic and vulnerable.

'Molly, it's not what it looks like,' he claimed.

Molly ignored him, all her fears and doubts about his feelings for her evidenced by the woman currently sleeping in _their _bed. She would never be enough for him, never be anything more than plain, common Molly Hooper. She grabbed her bag and turned to leave.

'Molly, be reasonable.'

Her hand gripped the doorknob painfully. Slowly, she released it and turned around. Her anger overcoming her tears, she hissed, 'Reasonable? Reasonable?! Like Hell! You _slept _with another woman!' She screamed at him.

'Just slept,' he stepped toward her.

'And she's naked because…?' Molly snorted derisively and backed up.

Sherlock shifted slightly, a flash of hurt across his face when she retreated from him, 'She likes to make people uncomfortable.'

'And 'she' would be?'

He hesitated, averting his eyes.

Molly gasped in realization. _Irene Adler. _Her heart, already broken, shattered into a thousand shards of sorrow. She felt her anger melt away as she realized she never stood a chance. Why settle for a common, plain pathologist when the stunningly beautiful and clever dominatrix wanted you?

He never told her he loved her because all along he'd only loved the Woman.

'Why?' She rasped, sorrow suffocating her.

Sherlock frowned, 'Why what?'

Molly took a deep, trembling breath, 'Why be with me when you can have her? And why… why lie to me about her?'

Of all the things she expected to see on his face, disbelief was not one of them. He seemed to be genuinely shocked by her question. Molly looked down at her shoes, twisting her bag strap as she waited for a response.

'No explanation?' She finally mumbled.

'There's nothing I could possibly say to convince you otherwise.'

_He's right. The only thing I ever needed him to say, the only reason I would stay, is the one thing he will never say. _

Leaving her broken and battered heart at his feet, she fled.

* * *

John held Molly tightly as she poured out the entire story. As soon as she finished, Mary jumped up from her seat and stormed toward the door.

'Mary, where are you going?' John exclaimed in surprise.

Mary shot him a glare as she shoved her arms into her coat, 'I'm going to shoot that son of a bitch, and this time I won't miss anything vital.'

'Mary, please.'

Molly's quiet request halted the blonde's angry movements. She raised her eyebrow, 'Can I at least make it impossible for him to cheat on anyone ever again?'

John squirmed in his seat as Molly huffed a laugh at her friend's implications. 'Thank you, but I'd rather focus on moving on, not revenge.'

Mary shook her head and hung her coat back on the rack, 'You'd make a lousy assassin, Hooper.'

'So, permanently injuring him is out. What about a nice pummeling?' John offered with a cheeky grin.

Molly smiled tremulously and pretended to think about it. She shook her head, 'No. Even though he probably deserves it, I don't want there to be problems between the two of you.'

John nodded, but Molly could see in his face he had no intention of obeying her request. And the way Mary's hands clenched and unclenched indicated she would be an active participant in said pummeling.

* * *

The Watsons stayed for a while longer, to make sure their friend would be okay. They made plans to visit the following day and bring their daughter along.

As they climbed into their car after bidding Molly farewell, they each struggled to control their anger over Sherlock's betrayal of their friend. John felt betrayed on two counts, having been unaware that Irene Adler was alive and that Sherlock was responsible for saving her. He jammed his keys into the ignition and jerked the car into traffic.

'Baker Street?' Mary spat, practically seething beside him.

John nodded firmly, 'Baker Street.'


	3. The Reconciliation

The final notes of his composition cried out as Sherlock drew the bow mournfully across the strings. As the music faded, his hands fell to his side, the bow scraping the floor. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, since Molly left. He vaguely recalled John and Mary coming by with baby Charlotte sometime after, but he had not paid them any mind. All he could see were Molly's tears, the heartbreak in her eyes. All he could hear was her sorrow and her disappointment.

He dropped his violin unceremoniously onto the desk and walked slowly across the room to the mantle. Lifting his faithful skull, he swiped the box that he had hidden inside. Wrapped in black velvet, it fit in the palm of his hand. He opened it reverently and stared down at the simple diamond ring nestled inside.

Sorrow and anguish swept over him. He snapped the box shut and clenched it tightly in his fist. This was his fault. He had foolishly entangled himself with the Woman. If he had been in control of his emotions, Molly would not be suffering. _He _would not be suffering.

He longed to go make things right with Molly, explain what happened.

But he could not bring himself to.

He felt tainted by the Woman's touch. Molly was pure and good, Irene Adler was lust and sin.

And Sherlock had made his choice when he saved the Woman's life.

His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of tires outside, shattering the quiet in the late hour. He was about to look out the window when the downstairs door banged open and two sets of angry feet pounded up the steps.

_Thank God Mrs. Hudson took her herbal soothers._

It was the only thing he was able to think before a livid John Watson stormed inside 221B and, in three quick strides, socked him in the face. The pain shot through his head as he heard the distinct sound of cartilage cracking. His hands flew to his face, the box dropping to the ground, forgotten.

An even angrier Mary grabbed him by the lapels, ignoring his flailing hands trying to clutch his cheek, 'You bastard.'

'Ah,' Sherlock mumbled through the pain, 'I see you have spoken with Molly.'

'No, no,' John seethed. 'You do not get to act cavalier about this.'

Mary released him forcefully. Even with the shooting pain in his cheek, Sherlock registered the 'Kill' look on her face and logically took a step back.

'Molly is a wreck, you cock,' John spat, 'and you have no right, _none,_ to feel sorry for yourself, playing that damn violin like a heartbroken sod.'

'On the contrary, John, I have-'

'No!' John hissed, 'You _slept _with another woman. Not just any woman, _the _Woman, Irene Adler, whom you neglected to inform me was _still alive._'

Sherlock shot him a guilty look, 'It was not something you needed to know.'

Mary huffed at his answer and turned aside, her arms crossed. John breathed heavily and pointed a finger at him, 'Listen here, you bastard. You broke our friend's heart, shattered it in every sense of the word. I am about three seconds away from castrating you, so for the love of everything holy, _act like you care._'

'I do care!' Sherlock shouted, unable to maintain his disinterested façade. 'All I want is to have Molly back. But I've destroyed whatever trust she had in me and now she will _never _believe me.'

John narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth once more, but was interrupted by a shocked Mary.

'Sherlock, what is this?' Mary asked in disbelief. The two men turned to her and Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when he saw the black box in her hand.

His mouth ran dry and his mind blanked.

Mary popped it open and gasped. Eyes wide, John moved beside her and gaped at the contents. He raised his shocked gaze to Sherlock. 'Jesus. Is this… was this… you were going to… propose to Molly?'

Sherlock gulped loudly and hesitated before nodding slowly.

'Before or after the whole…' John waved his hand in the direction of the bedroom.

'Before, of course,' Sherlock snapped. He snatched the box from Mary's hands and reverently touched the precious ring. Gently, he closed the box and placed it back on the mantle.

'I don't understand,' John asked in confusion. 'Why sleep with Irene Adler if you wanted to marry Molly?'

'I didn't sleep with her,' Sherlock replied in resignation. 'Although she has been exiled from England, she slunk back and tried to pick up where she thought we'd left off. I have had no contact with her since I saved her life and was unaware she was intending to 'visit'.'

Mary snorted in disbelief, 'That does not explain why she was naked in your bed, _with you._'

Sherlock glared at her, but was saved from responding by John.

'Actually, it does sort of make sense. She likes to make a shocking entrance. It would be like her to sneak in while he was sleeping and try to seduce him.'

''Try' being the operative word, Mary. It is hard to seduce someone who is unconscious,' Sherlock declared. 'I do not sleep often, but when I do, it is deep. Usually after a grueling case, when Molly is unavailable, or after a copious amount of inter-'

'We get it,' John interjected with a blush. 'So, what, you didn't know she was even there until Molly came home?'

Sherlock nodded, 'She was actually aware of the situation before I was.'

'Well, you did a bang up job of explaining,' Mary spat, still righteously angry on behalf of her friend.

'How could I explain it?' Sherlock threw his hands in the air and began pacing. 'There was a naked woman in our bed, a woman I previously indicated having sexual feelings for, and Molly 'caught' us when she came home a day early. Tell me, Mary, if it were John in my position, would you believe him?'

Several moments passed before Mary reluctantly shook her head. 'Probably not.'

'You see my dilemma,' Sherlock sneered.

'So what happened with Irene Adler?' John asked. Sherlock merely shrugged.

'A concerned citizen reported the presence of a criminal, previously thought dead, in a small flat on Baker Street. Certain British Government officials were not pleased with her continued existence and have taken steps to ensure that mistake is rectified.'

John raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Sherlock did not elaborate anymore.

'Well, now what will you do?'

'Accept the consequences of my actions,' Sherlock replied, feigning an air of acceptance, but knew John and Mary could see the sorrow in his eyes.

'Just explain it to Molly. All of it, maybe she'll believe you,' Mary smiled encouragingly and pulled him into a hug. 'It may take some time, but she loves you. She'll come back.'

Sherlock turned away, his eyes falling on the black box. Molly did love him. She said it in a thousand ways. With a kiss, with a smile, when she brushed the hair from his forehead, when she left him to his Mind Palace without complaint. She understood him far better than he understood her. Selfishly, he wanted her to never leave him even though he believed her to be far too good for him. He often lay awake as she slept, holding her close and just reveling in the feeling of having her in his arms.

He loved her. He had never told her, but he did. With everything inside of him. And as cliché as it sounds, as ridiculous as those horrid romance novels made it sound, he knew he wasn't good enough for her. And as selfish as he was, he loved her too much to hold her back from a relationship with someone who was.

His fingers caressed the velvet of the box that once held the promise of a future with Molly.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

'I don't-' he turned around and froze, the words dying on his lips as his eyes caught something behind John and Mary.

'Molly,' he rasped.

* * *

Her hair was tangled and her eyes red and swollen. Her clothes were wrinkled and dried tear tracks marked her face.

John and Mary started and whirled about. Molly gave a little finger-wave to the stunned couple, never taking her eyes from Sherlock, and stepped into the room.

'May I speak with you,' she swallowed thickly, 'alone?'

A stunned Sherlock merely nodded. John and Mary shot him looks as they made their way out the door. One look said, 'Hurt her and we will obliterate you.' The other said, 'Tell her and trust that she will believe you.' They made their way down the stairs and left to pick up their daughter from the nanny.

In the tension-filled silence, Molly and Sherlock stood across from each other.

'Why are you here?' Sherlock finally asked.

'I wanted to make sure John and Mary didn't kill you,' she indicated the darkening fist-sized mark on his cheek.

'I see,' he swallowed thickly. 'How much did you hear?'

Molly's gaze flicked to the bedroom and then to the floor, 'Enough to know I should have let you explain.'

Sherlock stepped closer, 'Do you understand what happened now?'

Molly bit her lip and looked up at him. 'I think so.'

He took a deep breath, 'Are… are we over?'

The silence hung between them, heavy and heartbreaking.

When Sherlock could bear it no more, Molly finally moved. Taking a step closer, she wrapped her arms around her middle.

'I'm not sure.'

Sherlock's heart pounded almost painfully. He swallowed thickly, 'What can I say to make you stay?'

Molly closed her eyes and grimaced, 'It's not something you can just _say_, Sherlock.'

'Then what is it?' He moved a bit closer.

Taking a shaky breath, she bravely admitted, 'I love you. You know that, Sherlock. And I know you are not comfortable with emotions. But I just… I need to be with s-someone who loves me. I need that more than I need to be with you.' She turned her head away and whispered the last part, 'Otherwise, I'll always wonder if I'm enough.'

At her words, Sherlock broke. He lunged across the final steps between them and clutched her tightly to him. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her temple. She shuddered under his touch and hesitantly wrapped her arms around his torso.

'You are enough. You are more than enough, Molly.'

She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat. Suddenly, her arms were empty as Sherlock pulled away and left her swaying where she stood. He rushed across the room and tossed his skull to the floor.

'Sherlock!' She cried, surprised at his carelessness with his companion.

He ignored her and whirled about, stalking back to her. Suddenly, his determined expression morphed into complete vulnerability. 'I, I wanted to do this right, with dinner and candles and sappy romantic music, but…'

'Do what right?' Molly stepped closer, confused.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'I love you.'

He opened his eyes hesitantly. Molly stared up at him, completely gobsmacked. 'Wh-what?'

'I, Sherlock Holmes, love you, Molly Hooper,' he reiterated.

'Oh.' She blinked, trying to process his admission.

It wasn't romantic, he stated it like the results of a case, nor was it heartfelt.

But something about his straightforwardness seemed more genuine than whatever romantic gushing Molly had imagined for this moment.

'Just 'oh'?' His vulnerability shook her and she began to smile, reaching up to brush a curl from his face.

'Oh.'

Sherlock reached up and grasped her wrist, bringing it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. When she didn't pull away, he wrapped his other arm around her back and pulled her close. Her face inches from his, he stared into her eyes, finding nothing but the sparkles he loved so dearly. With an answering smile, he crushed his lips to hers.

Molly moaned into the kiss as her body melted to his. The thought that he might never have touched her again, held her close and kissed her, scared him and he gripped her hand tighter.

She giggled at his possessiveness and he growled, deepening the kiss. Molly was getting carried away, her free hand running through the curls she loved so much. So lost in the kiss, she didn't notice when Sherlock let go of her hand to fumble around in his pocket. Suddenly, he pressed a cool metal object into her palm and she broke away. Dazed and flushed, she looked down. Several seconds passed before she realized what she was seeing.

She shrieked as her other hand flew to her mouth. She lifted wide, tear-filled eyes to Sherlock.

He reverently brushed her hair behind her ear, 'Marry me, Molly.' He looked at her with such adoration and vulnerability it nearly made her heart stop. 'Let me spend the rest of my life showing you how much you are worth to me, how much I absolutely love you.'

Tears coursed down her cheeks. Sherlock felt his heart stop at her tears, afraid she was upset and rejecting him. Before he could say anything, Molly pulled him down by the lapels and snogged him mercilessly, the ring gripped tightly in her hand.

'Yes, you idiot,' she murmured against his lips. He smiled in response and slipped the ring from her hand, deftly placing it on her finger as he kissed her. A perfect fit, of course.

Just as Molly was the perfect fit for him.


End file.
